


the welcomed kind of anxiety

by bbeverly



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Cabin Fic, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Yearning, but only kind of, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-14
Updated: 2020-08-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:49:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25889122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bbeverly/pseuds/bbeverly
Summary: richie plans a cabin trip so he can tell eddie just exactly how he feels about him. unfortunately, richie tends to get trapped in cyclical thinking.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 3
Kudos: 68





	the welcomed kind of anxiety

**Author's Note:**

> this is for bee who gave me this prompt in july for a notes app drabble but i let it go crazy bonkers and here we are ! given another month it could have been longer or i could have burned out and forgotten about it so it is here. now.

This weekend Richie had planned a four-day cabin trip, packed their bags and unpacked them when Eddie demanded to check and make sure everything was where it should be. It was, of course, you don't love someone as much as Richie loves Eddie and then not learn how they prefer their luggage packed. Not that Eddie needed to know Richie loved him this much. Not that it was an important detail.

Richie's palms are sweating.

September was a strange month, it was always a guessing game of just what kind of weather would occur. Late rainfall? Scorching heat? Early snow? Just general late fall to winter misery in the wonderful New York? Eddie didn't like living in uncertainties, he'd check the weather religiously reporting back to Richie whatever he found. So Richie had anticipated the frantic zipping and unzipping of bags, having packed everything he could possibly picture Eddie quickly listing off.

"It's gonna be cold rain," Eddie said, rifling carefully through his toiletries bag making sure everything was accounted for. "So we need sweaters, jackets, long sleeves... maybe hats? It might hit the 40s. But there's also a chance of a thunderstorm so the humidity is up and I don't want to sweat. You like the AC on high in the car, right?"

"Uh-huh," Richie says, kicking at the floor with his boot. Sometimes Eddie acted like a 50-year-old father at the age of 27. Richie really just wanted to get on the road, a bundle of nerves rattling about in his chest. He planned the weekend so he could tell Eddie just exactly where he wanted this living together to go- with them actually being together, label and all. Morning kisses and sleepy grumbling vibrating from chest to cheek. The warmth of a body, familiar and never out of place. Warm sweaters and soft rain conversations lulling him into blissful domesticity. Fuck.

Eddie must notice the shift, he zips up the bag and turns, smiling, though small it's genuine. He pulls his bookbag on, toiletry duffle in one hand and clothing suitcase in the other. "What the hell are you doing? Stop moping, alright? C'mon, let's go, not that we're keeping all the bugs waiting. They'll still be there to get on my fucking nerves."

Richie laughs, grabbing his own bag. A bag that Eddie insisted couldn’t possibly fit everything Richie would need while Richie laughed and shoved it all in there anyway. He opens the apartment door, gesturing out with a wide sweep of his arm. "Only your nerves? Not mine?"

"Only mine."

-

The drive to the cabin is uneventful, there's a light rain that picks up when they're about an hour away but it's nothing fantastical. Richie keeps looking over at Eddie who demanded he is the one to drive. Hands tight at ten-and-two, twisting around the wheel when a driver in front of them makes a particularly aggressive move. Richie has learned three things thus far or, more accurately, he had refreshed three neural links that were already there: one, Eddie's road rage will never be contained by any man, woman or otherwise; two, Eddie speeding up to ride someone's ass is entertaining in more ways than one; and three, Richie loves the way Eddie pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, trying to keep in a string of expletives when someone cuts him off.

This is a part of Richie's problem. He turns to look out the window instead, slumping so his shins are against the dashboard. He picks at the skin around his fingers, not sure if he really wants to go through with anything. What if he loses this? What if Eddie doesn't want to talk to him anymore? What if he's reading too far into every interaction they've had since they've been together? But... no, okay Richie, get your shit together. Nobody sits as close to you as Eddie does. Nobody pushes the boundaries of your personal space in such a comfortable way as Eddie does. Nobody decides to sit on your lap because there are no open seats and rest their head on your shoulder the way Eddie does.

Sometimes Richie thinks he is the dumbest man alive.

He shifts his gaze to Eddie again, sweater now pulled down to his knuckles. Warm and comfortable and definitely one that doesn't belong to him.  _ Oh my God _ , Richie thinks,  _ he took my fucking sweater _ . And, as if Eddie could read his mind, he briefly looks at Richie to stick his tongue out and then back to the road.

"You packed all of mine, what was I supposed to wear, asshole?"

Richie knows it's rhetorical but he can't help but reply, "your mother and I work day and night to make sure you have enough of your clothing to wear-"

Eddie tries to stifle a laugh and then moves to punch Richie in the shoulder. "You're such a dick!"

"No, I suck dick."

"Well, you are what you eat!"

"Ooh!" Richie exclaims, feigning hurt, "Edward gets off a good one!"

Eddie laughs, doesn't even try to hide it and shoots back, "I always do!"

"You- I-" Richie sputters, okay keep your cool Rich, play it overdramatic but in a casual way, "ew, gross, Spaghetti! I didn't need to know that! Wow, warn a guy!" Yeah, that was cool, very cool, not at all over the top or easy to misconstrue, and Richie is definitely not thinking about Eddie getting off or how he accidentally overheard it and swears he heard his name but left as quickly as humanly as possible because it felt far too invasive.

Was it invasive? They lived together, after all, impossible to not have it happen accidentally at some point and Richie got out of there "sonivc ffsast"- his words, texting Bev at two in the morning, half-drunk and thumbs a little uncoordinated; and then Mike a sobering "I think I'm in love with Eddie"; and finally Stan "What do I do if I'm in love with my best friend" plus a video of him sobbing in the stairwell of the apartment building. It was tumultuous and also maybe not an accident but not quite on purpose and wow Eddie just had to bring that up didn't he? Go fucking figure! Maybe Richie should just tell him now and save the heartache and-

"Rich? Richie, hey," Eddie's voice pulls Richie from his alphabet soup of thoughts. Always the life raft while also being the catalyst for anchor deployment- it was a rough and tough double life to lead but someone had to do it. He looks back and forth between the road and Richie, the latter blinking rapidly.

"Uhhh," Richie mumbles, trying to sink further into his seat without being in a seatbelt chokehold. "Yeah, what's up doc?"

Eddie makes a sound of confusion and suddenly an alarm starts blaring in Richie's brain: CUTE! It screams, CUTE! It's cyclical thinking, really, one minute convincing himself that Eddie does, in fact, like him very much the same way and then resorting to thinking the exact opposite and delving back into "well actually-ing" himself. Horrible. He wishes he could turn his brain off.

"Did you hear anything I just said?"

Fuck.  _ No, of course not, don't you know I have no listening ability when I'm spiralling about whether or not you'd like to kiss passionately under the stars or something incredibly romcom like that? _ Richie could say this but he won't, instead what comes out is a weird amalgamation of sounds followed by a clipped, "No."

Eddie rolls his eyes and Richie sends a quick prayer to anyone listening that he's never in a situation where he couldn't see it. "Well, dipshit, for the SECOND time, I said we're only thirty minutes away so did you want to stop for groceries now or wait until tomorrow when the rain clears up? We can just stop for something quick right now?"

"Uh, okay, let's..." Richie trails off, squinting ahead to see the nearest exit sign. "Let's just swing by McDonald's or something now, then go grocery shopping. I'm starving and you know better than anyone that when I grocery shop in this state it’s like making a zombie a brain surgeon."

The comparison makes little to no sense but it seems to get the point across as Eddie changes lanes. They sat in an odd silence for a moment, the radio playing some classic rock station neither of them were paying attention to except for a three minute and fifty-six-second stretch where Karma Chameleon came on and Richie was once again head over heels. Maybe he had a thing for Eddie going completely off the rails to Culture Club.

As they pulled off the exit Eddie sped passed the McDonald's and brought them back down to the speed limit.

"Hey! You missed your turn, buttmunch," Richie says, sitting up finally and groaning at the stretch in his back. Maybe he was the 50-year-old father.

Eddie smiles, still looking out the windshield and with a level of calm Richie thinks could level an army says, "I am not eating at a fucking McDonald's after being in the car for three hours, Richie."

Richie grumbles and hastily stops when Eddie asks what that was. "Nothing, nevermind, what if we got Burger King? Or Arby's? Or- Jesus Christ are you gonna drive passed every option I list off? What are you? Some kind of torture porn speed demon?"

"No! I just don't want to eat any of that, why don't we find someplace we can sit down at?" Eddie asks, sparing a glance to his left.

Richie takes the moment to let his face flareup. He's not sure he can handle a sit-down restaurant right now without combusting and he won't put the poor bus staff through the gruelling job of scraping his guts off the walls, tables and chairs. He wrings his hands together in his lap and huffs out a breath, "Fast food, Eddie! I'll die if I have to wait thirty minutes for a plate of alfredo!"

"You're impossible and you have the palate of a toddler. We can get Wendy's."

"Thanks, Dad. I want the spicy chicken nuggets."

"I know."

-

They make it through the Wendy's drive-thru with little to no bickering, an incredible feat for them considering the one instance an employee asked Eddie if he was being held hostage. Eddie parks the car and rifles through the bag for his fries- just fries. Richie managed to resist rolling his eyes but wasn't strong enough to bite his tongue before saying, "Oh and I'm the one with the toddler palate?"

Eddie glares at him through a mouthful of fries. Ever-polite, won't talk with his mouth full no matter how belligerent Richie tries to be and trust him, he's tried. Richie decides to let his mind wander again but keeps a tight leash, can't let this train of thought get too far away from him again. Eddie looks... cosy. Content, even. French fries in hand, muttering to himself a loose semblance of a grocery list. A sweater too big on him while also fitting in just the right ways. Although, Richie suspects he might think that about anything Eddie wears. He's incredibly put together for a 27-year-old. Nowhere near old but also not seeming all that young.

Richie's trailing off now, worrying himself about ageing. What if it all goes left and he doesn't get to continue growing up with Eddie by his side? It's been far too long now, he isn't sure he knows how to function without Eddie's neuroses. Without the subtle micromanagement does Richie even know how to properly wash, dry and put away dishes? Logically yes, he's sure he knows how to do that he's a grown man but figuratively. Figuratively Richie thinks he'd fall into a deep pit of despair he'd never be able to get out of if Eddie didn't react well to the feelings swirling around in Richie's chest.

God, he was in far too deep now. The tight leash was looser than he had previously imagined it being.

He shoves the empty carton of what was once his chicken nuggets into the bag. He doesn't remember when he started eating them and isn't sure when he finished but there's a tingling in his mouth from the spice so it definitely happened. "Alrighty," he says, cracking his knuckles and putting his feet on the dashboard. "Grocery time."

Eddie nods, blissfully unaware of the thoughts cycling through Richie's head. "Grocery time. Since there's only two of us and we'll only be there four days I figure we can spend less than a hundred, of course, that depends on how much snack foods versus real foods we get..." Richie listens attentively as Eddie continues his budgeting, watches as he shifts the gear into reverse and pulls out of the parking lot.

And then the domesticity of grocery shopping karate chops him in the windpipe.

-

The aisles of Walmart feel longer than they need to be but it could just be Richie's brain processing information far too fast for the rest of him to catch up to. He'd gone grocery shopping with Eddie a number of times, this shouldn't be any different but for some reason it just... was. Like there was a weight in it now. Like picking the right bag of grapes was suddenly the most important purchase of his life.

This felt somehow more domestic than it did every time before. The way they meandered through the aisles and talked prices, quality, expiration dates and what could handle the travel back home with them. No, they didn't need a gallon of milk but if they got a half-gallon they might run out. Would it be worth it to drive back out again? (Richie thought so but Eddie didn't think he'd want to once they got settled in).

Picking chips and deli meats and pasta sauces somehow determined how the rest of his time would go. Richie felt like he was playing the real-life version of Episode or Life Is Strange or some other game where the most inconsequential decisions had a major impact on the rest of his story. And then there was check out. Where checking out happened.

Richie knew his face was red.

"Are you here for vacation with your friend? The cabins are really nice, good parties and all that," the cashier smiles at Richie and he's not sure what to do.

He wasn't oblivious, he knew what was happening but it's not like he could suddenly say that he was actually incredibly interested in the shorter man next to him who looked about ready to blow a fuse. Wait. What? Richie turned his full attention to Eddie and then down to the counter where Eddie had put his hand on top of Richie's. Accidental hand-holding. Or, okay, c'mon Richie look at Eddie's body language. He's defensive. This is purposeful.

"Yeah, we rented a cabin to get away from the suburbs for a bit," Eddie responds, not looking at the cashier but watching the pin pad as the items get rung up. "We thought it would be nice, put on a fire, cook dinner together, the whole nine yards."

Richie isn't sure he would know what to say if he could manage to get his brain working for more than a half-second before it short circuits to the hand on top of his own.

They pay for the groceries without incident, piling them into the cart and taking them to the car. Neither of the two discusses the interaction despite the way it begins ceaseless gnawing at Richie's brain. Does this mean he likes me? No, he was just being protective! But why would he think he needs to do that? I'm grown, I can handle myself in weirdly flirtatious situations. I understood the implications.

He packs the groceries into the trunk on autopilot, adding in the occasional jab here and there to maintain appearances. Not that he believes he needs to do that with Eddie just that he can't handle the prying questions floating in Eddie's eyes right now. It can wait until they're safely tucked away in a cabin with food and drink and fire. And the rain that Richie can smell on the wind.

-

Richie thinks he should be a meteorologist. The moment they arrive at the cabin and get the bags inside the downpour begins, nothing too extreme but the energy in the air is palpable. If Richie breathes through his mouth he can taste it. Acrid, bitter, the opposite of the things he needs to be experiencing right now. It’s like the universe is mocking him somehow.

They sit side by side on the couch now, one Eddie had taken the handheld Dyson to before they sat down, eating quietly. Richie managed to light a fire in the fireplace while Eddie made the grilled cheese and the soft crackling filled the space between them. Cosy. Warm sweaters and warm food and a warm room and their hands brushing as they both reach for their cups- curse Eddie being left-handed but at the same time, thank the wiring in his brain for making him that way. The back of Richie's hand tingles as he takes bubbling sips from his Sprite. His throat felt the same way his hand did as he gulped it down.

"Thirsty?"

Yes. "Yes."

Eddie's head tips back as he laughs, throat exposed and Richie bites his tongue to resist moving forward just to press a kiss there. Just to feel it. Just to know what he's been missing this whole time. A soft warmth under his lips, not the persistent stubble that moved down Richie's own neck.

He barely registers Eddie grabbing his empty plate, too busy focused on the trainwreck in his mind. He was not soft, he was all big shoulders and a half-assed shave job and cracking impressions. He was harsh and rough, disproportionate. But when Eddie sat down again and the couch dipped the thought vanished from his mind. Eddie wasn't soft either, he had calluses on his hands from working at the mechanic's, gravel to his voice when he woke up or when he was half-asleep, a brutal shoulder check when Richie was genuinely doing too much. A loud laugh, the kind nobody would think he'd have despite the perpetual state of sort-of-yelling he seemed to be in when he got too invested in something.

Don't get him wrong, Richie would like Eddie if he was soft too but then- would he even be Eddie at that point? If he liked to be coddled and harboured and treated like something delicate? Richie doesn't think so. Richie's staring right into Eddie's big, brown eyes but he finds steel, not morning dew.

"Do I have something on my face?" Eddie asks, tilting his head to the side before pulling out his phone. Presumably to clean off any schmutz that may be stuck there.

"There's nothing on your face, dude! Can a bro not gaze longingly at his fellow bro just for fun?" Richie Tozier is the epitome of nonchalance.

A few emotions flash across Eddie's face, too fast for Richie to catalogue each one. Eventually, Eddie's face settles on disappointed but not surprised. So they sit, staring at one another and Richie can feel the sweat prickling on the back of his neck. Now! His brain screams, now! Do it now you coward! But when has Richie ever listened? He rubs the back of his neck, trying to appease the uncomfortable warmth.

He stands up, stretching with an obnoxious grunt and then bends forward as if to touch his toes. He doesn't make it and there's a burning in his thighs but anything feels better than the crippling anxiety eating at his abdomen.

"Well! Long day! I think it's time to hit the hay and-"

"Richie."

"Yeah, Eddie?" Richie's pretty sure his voice cracked and he's going to spontaneously implode. Simply cease to exist on this plane of existence. Bye-bye Eddie, sorry, the tension was just too much for me and I'm too much of a wimp to make a move on it and at this point, I'm 98% sure you'd reciprocate but I can't risk the 2% that says you wouldn't.

"It's seven at night, what the ever-loving fuck do you mean you're going to bed?"

Richie stops, not sure what to do with his hands so his arms are stiff at his sides. Not pressed to his body, just slightly hovering an inch away from his core. He's not sure how to stand normally, every muscle tensed and ready to get out of the situation. It's not confrontation but it's damn near close and that's enough to make Richie's brain run a mile a minute on whether he's agile enough to backflip across the loveseat or if he has the brain processes to crack some kind of joke to ease the discomfort.

He watches as Eddie's face relaxes into some vague form of exasperation.

At least it's not neutral. Richie will take what he can get, he needs the predictability. Thunder crashes overhead and Richie's grateful for the break, rain hitting the roof of the cabin with a harsher pattering. He briefly wonders if the power will go out, maybe then he could muster the courage to at least reach out and touch more than the accidental brush of hands and the way Eddie's hand gripped his in the store. Subtle comforts in big moments that make everything seem sharp, high contrast.

The fire dims in his peripheral, he needs to add more wood or just say fuck it and let it burn itself out. Gross, a metaphor.

Eddie sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose before he stands and crosses his arms. One foot slightly in front of the other. Stancing up. If Richie didn't know any better he'd think Eddie was gearing up to tackle him to the ground- the problem was that Richie did know better. He knew Eddie would only do something like that if he could ensure minimal to no damage like when he suplexes Richie into Stan and Patty's pool or when he tackles Richie into Bev's mattress just so she can mercilessly test out some eyeshadows. Richie would have to get 'LIAR' tattooed across his forehead if he said he didn't appreciate those moments. Tack on an 'x2' if he said he didn't think about them constantly.

"Alright, Richie, what the fuck is going on? You've been acting super weird all day- and that's weird on your scale, by the way, not mine. You get all weird and sketchy and ou just spend a whole rambled sentence calling me 'dude' and 'bro' and not once have you called me 'Eds' all fucking day and ah! No!" Eddie cuts Richie off just as he opens his mouth. It closes with a strange creaking that leaves an ache in his jaw. "Don't go all: 'Eeuuuh but you don't like it when I call you Eds' because you and I both know that's- well, I-" Eddie's losing steam now, his face is all red and it's not from the leftover embers of the fire.

"It's bullshit?" Richie offers, suddenly timid and hating the way it sounds.

"It's bullshit!" Eddie says, throwing his hands up in the air. He turns and starts pacing, muttering to himself like he's rehearsing just what it is he wants to say. The same way he did in the parking lot with the grocery list. An anxiety tic or an ADHD one, Richie isn’t sure.

Richie's is pretty sure, however, that this counts as confrontation now but his shoulders aren't as tense. This is familiar, the bickering over something useless. Watching Eddie pace is now Richie's number one spectator sport, in his head, he narrates it: Eddie's going straight will he make the sharp left..? No! He fakes left, spinning sharp on the right heel, he's approaching defence like he has a game plan and... He chickens out, curves left and walks to the wall again! Wow, folks, this is an impressive wind up before the finishing blow.

The internal monologue ceases when Eddie does and Richie feels his heart sink. This is not the usual, this is going off-script in a way that makes the hairs on his arms stand up even though they're under a way-too-warm sweatshirt. He wants to curl up under his covers the way he used to on the rare occasions Maggie would get genuinely mad at him.

"Eddie," Richie says, then pauses, shifting his weight, "Eds, I didn't mean anything by it. It wasn't intentional, I just-"

"It wasn't intentional?" Eddie's voice goes gentle as lightning flashes outside. The rain sounds like it's lightening up. He starts laughing, full-bodied. A kind of laugh that makes him sit down and put his head in his hands.

Richie just watches for a moment- he's always doing that, though, watching Eddie -and then sits down next to him. A mirror of their dinner moments earlier. A mirror of hands brushing and the urge to kiss and fingers interlocking while something passes between them and fuck it if not now then when and then Eddie's kissing him.

Eddie's kissing him and Richie's kissing back and the rain is falling softly now and the embers are still burning and Richie puts a hand on the back of Eddie's neck. There is warmth. There is peace.

When they break apart they stare, both of them. Not just Richie gazing longingly but an acknowledged connection of looking.

"Okay, so, it was kind of intentional..." Richie trails off but sees triumph on Eddie's pink cheeks, knowing his own face looks the damn same. "I didn't think you'd notice! I've been trying to play it cool but I planned this trip so I could tell you that- that I wanted to kiss you and be with you and hold your hand on purpose and get a house and a dog and whatever else you want. But I kept- Bawk bawk, y'know?"

"Eloquent."

"Alright, Stan. Anyway, I just..." And then it hits him, really truly sucker punches Richie in the frontal lobe. He needed to call Mike. His voice gets soft with the wind outside the windows, "I wanted to tell you I love you."

Eddie smiles, putting a hand on Richie's cheek while his thumb rubs gently along his cheekbone. "Richie, I know. You're not as good an actor as you think, ask Audra for some tips or stick to comedy."

Richie can't even pretend to be mad, he just barks out a laugh and flails backwards. Half of him off the couch but the other half lounging against the armrest. "You asshole."

"You are what you eat."

"And he does callbacks? Lord help me!" Richie grunts softly as Eddie flops down onto his chest, chin on the backs of his hands to look up at Richie. Richie whose face hurts from grinning so much. Richie who cannot believe he let himself get so worked up over something he knew but didn't know. Couldn't possibly know it would go so well and yet, at the same time and in the same breath, of course, it did. This was Eddie, his Eddie, his Eddie he knows so well he knows how to pack the luggage and make food plans and love.

Richie knows how to love him.

"You didn't say it back," he says, putting and pulling his legs up onto the couch. Adjusting both of them just-so.

Eddie blinks. Once. Twice. "Did you need me too?"

"I spent this whole time in a fucking panic thinking you'd pack your shit and-"

"Okay, okay!" Eddie laughs and Richie thinks it's one of his favourite sounds in the whole world, next to the sound of his next four words: "I love you, too."

They stay there for a while, letting the last of the fire burn out and their sweaters keep them warm. The now gentle patter of rain welcoming them to a blanketed bliss.


End file.
